PS 3511 
.024 C4 
1908 
Copy 1 



CHINOOK 



By 



Florens Folsom 



CHINOOK 



By 



Florens Folsom 



FIRST ACTING EDITION 



COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR. 



UB8ARY Ct CONFESS 

I *»u Cwoies rt«ce«ve« 

AUG 6 )W8 




Montclair Herald Print 

Montclair, N. J. 

1908 



DEDICATION 



'UNTO CiESAR" 



"There is some soul of goodness in things evil." Shakespere — Henry 
VIII. 

"For therefore he that despiseth, despiseth not man, but God." 
Two voices — one appealing, one reassuring, sing, unseen, this 
hymn of J. C. Neale.— Second Tune. 

"// any man serve Me, let him follow Me, and where I am, there shall also 
My servant be." 
Art thou weary, art thou languid, 

Art thou sore distrest? 
"Come to Me," saith One, "and coming, 
Be at rest." 

Hath He marks to lead me to Him, 

jl He be my guide? 
"In His feet and hands are wound-prints, 
, And His side." 

Is there diadem, as monarch, 

That His brow adorns? 
"Yea, a crown, in very surety, 

But of thorns." 

If I find Him, if I follow, 

What His guerdon here ? ; 

"Many a sorrow, many a labor, 

Many a tear." 

If I still hold closely to Him, 

What hath He at last? 
"Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, 

Jordan past." 

If I ask Him to receive me, 

Will He say me nay? 
"Not though earth, and not though heaven 

Pass away." 

Finding, following, keeping, struggling, 

Is He sure to bless? 
Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs, 

Answer, "Yes." 



"Give me truths; 

For I am weary of the surfaces, 
And die of inanition." 

"Blight" — Emerson. 



'Only the kernel of every object nourishes; 
Where is he who will tear off the husks for you and for me? " 

Walt Whitman. 



"Greater love hath no man than this, that he [TAKE UP] his life 
for his friends." 



INTERDEPENDENCE ABSOLUTE, FORESEEN, ORDAINED 



DECREED, 

To work, y'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o' speed 

Now, a' together hear them lift their lesson — theirs and mine. 

"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!" 

Mill, forge and try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose 

That HOLDS, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction, waste an' slip 

" McAndrews' Hymn." — Kipling. 



"Enorrmous, certain, slow" — 

"McAndrews Hymn" — Kipling 



CHINOOK 



ARGUMENT 



The scene is a tract of land between the Mohave Desert and fertile 
soil. Three men lie about a fire of thorn-boughs (chaparral) ; their 
horses, unsaddled and tethered for the night, stand in group back and 
to the left of the resting men. 

These are Weenoa, the revenant soul of a woman, Old Pete, a 
veteran cattleman and horseman; Four-eyes, a young professor of 
Philosophy, playing cowboy for his health; and "Buck" Hobbs, the 
real thing in Western work and love and play. He lives there. 
Buck lights a long cigar; The Professor puffs jerkily at a cigarette. 



The Professor — 'Sudden the desert changes, 

'The raw glare softens and clings' — 

'And the monstrous heaven rejoices' — 

'Ah, Kipling, Kipling, you'd love it here, old boy!' 

Buck — Wal', don't you write and tell 'im so. If you wants 
to treat us white, you'll do like I was readin' in King Solomon's 
mines, how they done in Africa when they wants to honor a 
party special. 

They don't mention 'em to anyone ; they cuts 'em out. 

Don't you go to paintin' no picture of us ; ner to writin' 
no novels or stories about us, nor to tellin' your friends how nice 
and polite we took care on you and showed you around. Jest 
Forgit us. We don't want this country to fill up any quicker'n 
its adoin' now. Every mornin' I wake and look around me I 
thanks God that round where I live usual the land's so all-fired 
barren, and hard to work, that it's likely to remain unsquatted 
on, and unspotted from the world, for a few years. Now we 



Six CHINOOK 

don't want any come-back from your visit. We ain't a-askin* 
you importunate. 'Is there any more at home like you?' 

The Professor — Regarding Buck for some instants 
through his glasses with a specimen-inspecting attention, turns 
to a small saddle-hamper unstrapped and open beside him and 
begins, somewhat fussily, to unpack, arrange, and fit together 
his steel, aluminum and granite-ware Lares and Penates. 

Buck — Oh, Lord ! Will you look at that now ! Everything 
just what the occasion calls for. Tin cups to drink out'n and 
the spider for a dinner- saucer was good enough for the boys that 
made the West. And the coffee-pot — what is it? — a puzzle 
with a prize for fittin' the parts together? 

The Professor — Imperturbably, busying himself with 
his implements of cuisine and with the fire, which Old Pete is 
steadily and silently nursing and tending : The prize, my friend — 

Buck — I ain't your friend! 

The Professor — Is a cup of coffee rather better, I fancy, 
than your archaic, your Stone- Age utensils could afford you. 

Buck — And what's this bee-hive for? A toaster? And a 
alcohol lamp-stove that it's fittin' like a glove ! Flap- jacks er 
grindstones ain't good enough for you — be they? 

The Professor, placidly — No, my friend ! They are not. 
Toast assimilates with more readiness and harmony to my diges- 
tive processes. 

Buck — Your digestive processes be — 

Old Pete speaks, reaching for his pipe, filling and light- 
ing her slowly : — 

Well, boys, it's sure a strange land, this Western country. 
Changes comes sudden, here ! D'ye mind how, when we pitched 
camp here for the night along o' the herd, how dry and dead 
an' dull ev'ything seemed? An' now — look about ye! All 
one blaze o' glow! The sky, a great big ruinin' rose o' red; 
violet mist a pourin' up from the earth through the cracks an' 
fissures o' that canyon yonder; an' in place o' the brown stubble 
we th'owed ourse'ves down on, millyons of little yaller flow'rs, 
sweeter to smell than jasmine ! To be sure, the red o' the 
sky an' the blue o' the earth mist '11 be gone, pronto ; the mat 
o' sweetness an' softness we're a lyin' on. — 



CHINOOK Seven 

Like a magic carpet of the ancient East!— broke in the 
Professor, softly. 

Old Pete — These here little yaller honey-blooms, they'll 
be stubble when the night-dew that woke 'em out of their brown 
coffins, dries from 'em in the sun again ; but they're sweet while 
they last, boys — they sure is sweet while they last ! 

Buck Hobbs : You're right, Pard— it is a funny country* 
Things move awful quick, out here, an' awful certain — they 
drives right home, an' HARD. YOU knows, Pete, how the 
snows come down out'n a clear sky; an' heap piles o' drift 
house-high, blottin' out the trails under tons of whiteness. 
Then, just as we're got used to ear-muffs and fur mittens, down 
comes Chinook from the hills. 

The Professor: What's— Chinook? 

Buck.— Chinook? Why, that's Injun for the Black Wind. 
It comes, soft, and warm an' wet an' meltin' down from the 
hills, an' it soaks and limbers up the hard old crusted ice an* 
the stiff thick snow, — until they jest naturally passes in their 
checques, an' isn't. In a few hours Chinook '11 wipe out a 
blizzard of days' length an' a powerful heft of weight and 
ugliness. 

The Professor — And it's warm, you say? 
Old Pete— Yes. Warm and wet and soft, like tears or 
blood. I often thinks, I wishes there could come Chinook on 
human hearts, loosenin' up their tightness an' their meanness, 
meltin' down cold stubborn hard-shelled Pride, openin' up the 
trails o' kindness an' gentle dealin', changin' dreariness an' dead- 
ness into green meddow and runnin' streams. But there ain't 
— no — Chinook — fer Humans. 

The Professor, thoughtfully: Ah Chinook. It 

occurs to me, that I heard of its equivalent in Europe— in the 
Alps. They call it there the Foehn— or rain-wind ; and depend 
upon it to save the grapes in Autum, and to bring the Spring 
out from under Winter. 

Buck: Y' see, Stranger, the diff'rence, one diff'rencc 
between you an' us is, you compares America with other 
countries; we makes em all measure up to America. You've 
travelled too much, Stranger; you'd oughter hev stayed at 



Eight CHINOOK 

at home, and got acquainted better with the country you were 

born into. Buck, still interested in the disapproving of 

the Professor's impedimenta, fishes out certain tins at which 
he gazes with disgust. 

Buck: Tetley's Teas! Asparagus- tips ! Pate de foie 
gras! Napkins/ 

The Professor, (a trifle maliciously :) But one refinement 
you surely find lacking tooth-picks. 

Buck: You to be a trav'ler with old salt-meat men I 
You're what they used to call a Cibberight, that's what you 
are. 

The Professor blandly : A cosmopolitan may be a 
patriot, Sir. His country is the Universe; for th stars of his 
flag, the stars of the great ALL (pointing upwards) and it is 
to Humanity he swears allegiance, rather than to any despot 
or office grafter. 

Buck; drily: That's all very well; but where does a 
cosmopolitan the brand you mention — pay taxes? 

The Professor, with composure: Wherever, my friend, 
he meets an empty pocket that he ought to fill ; a shivering, 
heart that he has the chance to warm; shackled hands to free 
or an under-Dog to help to his feet again. 

Buck — shrugging his shoulders — You beat me! 

The Professor : You speak of the men who made the 
West. Isn't the West still in the making? And mayn't she, 
at this rate and state of her development, need other tools 
than pick and drill, than saw and shovel and plow? Give the 
men of pen and page a chance to serve and love her ! I am not 
so different from you as you think. Come through, — will you? 
Wliat do you suppose I am here for? Would I have followed 
the 'feet of the young men;' think you ,to this wilderness, 
unless I, too, had 'heard the Red Gods call?' 

Old Pete; sighing heavily: If you hears them things 
call up to you out'n your blood, don't you never listen to 
'em ; they'll lead you wrong. 

Buck Hobbs — (Aside to the Professor) — Mustn't mind 
Old Pete. He's had his troubles, an' he ain't got over 'em. 
• The Professor— What sort of troubles? 



CHINOOK Nine 

Buck — What's that you say, Stranger? You ask him. 
The Professor— You put it past me; eh? All right. I 
will. 

Old Pete— You don't need to, Stranger. I hearn you 
an' Buck colloguin' together. I'd as lieve tell ye, anyhow; our 
trails jine for to-night; yesterday you didn't know me an' to- 
morrow you'll have forgot me ; an' Buck, he' 'n I have knowed 
one another fer years. He knows the whole o' me. — Long 
Pause. — 

The Professor — You were saying? 

Old PETE— (Mildly)— Nothin', then, Stranger. I wuz 
thinkin' o' her — her as I didn't value ner take keer on ner 
unnerstand — when I had her — an' now, she's lost to me. 
The Professor — What was she — like? 
Old Pete — Well, she was what some women used to be 
an' what they all ought to be. What they all will be, once they 
settles down to steady goin' again, an' forgits a lot of the half- 
baked truck they come home with now from their schools an' 
colleges ! 

The Professor— Then you don't approve of the Higher 
Education for women? 

Old Pete — (Smoking steadily before removing his pipe: — 
Yes, sir ; I does. But Higher Education, to me, means learnin' 
how to love the most ; and how to do the most for those she loves 
the best. You know, sir, (to the Professor) — women and men 
is made some plenty diff'runt; an' they's most their-selves, an' 
nearest to each other, too, when they is most unlike each other. 
At least, that's what I think. 

Buck — Tell us off that bit o' verse you scratched down 
fer me that night we lay out together on Bald Mesa, Pete. 
Foureyes 'ud like it. 'Scuse me, sir; but that's what the boys 
does call you. 

The Professor — I'm glad I've been thought worthy of a 
nickname. It's an accolade of manhood, from you boys. 

Old Pete — Rummaging round in his pockets — Can't find 
that scrap o' paper nowhere. 

The Professor — I didn't know you were a poet, Uncle 
Pete! 



Ten CHINOOK 

Pete — You didn't? Well; you know'n right then; cause 
I ain't. J_Les' see, I guess this is how she goes : 

RIDIN' HERD. 



There's a many thing a man can do, 

An' be straight an' honest; white, an' true; 

There's a many things a man can be — 

Miner, farmer, ranger, he! — 

And if he's a man — straight out, clear through, 

Clean strain, to his type an' breedin' true, 

He'll show the same — and he'll play the Game 

By the Rules That Count — and they're big, and fe* 

But (/ think) for a woman, there's jest one thing — 
The broodin' breast, the shelterin' wing: - - - - 
I know, they say, that a woman's brain 

Needn't chill her heart, tho' she train, and train, 

Into M. D. Ph. D. B. A. 

But — I'm old-fashion' — 

Give me the way 

They used to be: tender, sof, and kind — 

Lullaby heart, sentinel mind! 

There is just one thing for a woman to be — 

To suit old style, old fashion' me: 

That's, ridin' herd on the, children folk; 

Keepin' them safe; wisein' 'em broke 

To the rules of the Game — 

W'ich they got to know — 

Close-herdin' careful, patient, slow; 

Guidin' them in to waters clear, 

Brandin' them light — with a smile, a tear; 

Singin' them down to their quiet sleep, 

Easin' them up where the hill gets steep 

Near that round-up-AS YE SOW, YE REAP. 

What better job could a woman find 

For her most mature, most modern mind? 

Herdin', 

Herdin', 

Herdin' the little weak, weary, stumblin' feet ; 

Guerdon, 

Guerdon, 

Ye know whose lips have tasted, ye know how it is sweet! 

Florens Folsom 



CHINOOK Eleven 

The Professor— Softly— The broodin' breast, the shel- 
terin' wing. Was she like that, Uncle Pete? 

Pete— Yes, she were. She wuz an Indian gal. But, O! 
She were the smartest, the liveliest, the ablest woman I ever 
knew. Didn't talk, act, ner think, like a Injun. I 
marries her; an' we lives happy an' innocent an' good; an' has 
a son. An' then, I gets restless; wants more money. So I 
stakes her out to a year's keep; there's plenty meat in the cache 
and there's furs enough on the shack walls to keep 'em warm 
in winter; an' so, I goes. I aims fer the Klondike; but Dyea 
gits me. A noospaper chap wuz caught thar with the rest o' 
us ;he sets out with me one night when I quits the games the 
other boys wuz playin' ; an' he writes this. It wuz true. 

HALFWAY TO KLONDIKE. 



i. 

Five thousand of us caught and crammed 

in this yere one-horse town — 
Five thousand of us crazy men — a-stompin' 

up an' down 
Er cowerin' on frozen logs, an' cryin' — while 

our tears 
Freeze stiffly in our hollow cheeks to shame us — ■ 

but who keers? 
We're all in the same boat, boys, thur 

ain't no use in lyin' — 
A-cussin' an' a-cryin', a-starvin' an' a-dyin' — 
God! but we're hungry an' we're cold! 

II 

I was thinkin' as I sat to-night an' watched 

the shinin' stars, — 
The only things 'at's clean around this 

trampled town of ours, — 
Was thinkin', — 'Spose we do pull through, 

an' strike a Klondike claim, 
Wil't pay us fer the time we've had 

down here — fer all the shame 
O-cussin' an' a-cryin' f o'starvin' an' o'-dyin' — 
God! bein' played-out, bein' cold! 



Twelve CHINOOK 

III 

I've cradled at a rocker hip-high in icy slush, 

Er, trailin' up the Yukon, yelled freezin' dogs to 

"Mush!" 
I've seen my shafts and props go down 'neath 

gravel, stones, and sand, 
Undoin' what I'd sweated for fer months with 

back and hand — 
Yet, through it all, I've knowed the most a man 

can do, is jest 
Enough t2 make him half-way fit to draw into 

his breast 
A woman what is on the square , and fer a kid to 

buy 
The toys an' grub kids ought to have. - - - - 

But as for me, I'll die 
In this here devil's wilderness - - - - In this 

here rotten hole 

God ! But its lonely! and its col' ! 

Florens Folsom. 

The Professor — But you didn't die. 

PETE — Not my body, didn't. But the Me part o' me died 
up thar in Alaska ; I strikes a claim at last, an' I makes good. 
An' I hauls out fer home — but not, home with Weenoa. No, 
that ain't good enough fer me, no more. I has had mosquitoes 
a-chawin' my face off ; an' the cold a-eatin' o' my feet ; an' 
I has lived (too long !) on stale bad mouldy stuff, 
and drunk too much cheap whisky. An' I'm changed, 
somehow, inside ; changed wrong. I'm a wolf — I'm a 
hawk — I'm a kyoty. I wants to git my claws an' my 
teeth in pleasure — in bein' thought good o' by the worl' ; in 
bein' like other fellers what has struck it rich. So I forgets 
Weenoa, an' my kid. I drifts down at last into Texas; an' I 
finds a girl with money; an' good looks; her father, he owns a 
ranch I'd like to boss ; an' I makes up to her. It's her birthday. 
An' its barbecue an' gen'ral festivities on the ranch. All the 
Mexicans her father keeps, an' the Americano boys he pays an' 
eats with, they is breakin' broncs and shootin' an' dancin' 
an' singin' to amoose her an' win her favor. An' I wades in, 



CHINOOK Thirteen 

an' breaks the devilest hoss. An' she smiles on me ; an' waves 
a bright color scarf — her mother's Spanish — an' I rides up to 
her, like one o' them thar ole knight-chaps at a tourn'ment. 
An' jest afore I reaches her, I draps with a shot through my 
haid. Weenoa, she walks out, slow, from the grease wood where 
she been sittin' all day with the gun I left her when I went away, 
loaded 'cross her knee — a dago who didn't want me to git the 
girl, tole me afterward he seen her — Weenoa, she walks out, 
slow; smokin' gun in hand, an' stands over me, lookin' down 
on me straight an' steady. Her hands is folded on her breast. 
An' though the Sheriff o' the county himse'f is there, ther' 
ain't a man makes a play to lay his hands on her. Somethin' 
come out from her, I raickon', an' kep' 'em off. Now I isn't 
hurt so bad — I thought I wuz dyin' — but what I remembers my 
wantin' the girl to ad-mire me; so I says, "Weenoa, I forgives 
you." But that gallery play don't faze her none. No, sir! 
You cain't forgive me, Pete, says she, awful quiet an' still. Nor 
you mustn' mistake what I'm adoin' o' this fer. I'm a queerin' 
yer play here acause it ain't right fer you to let it go on ; 'cause 
yer needs to have it stopped ; you needs to be put out o' business. 
I'm here 'acause I loves you — an' 'acause I wants to meet you, 
farther on. But it's good bye fer now, fer keeps, so fur as this 
life's conserned. Yon cain't fergive me, Pete. 

'The kid's dead. A b'ar got him, Pete. The meat, it gives 
out; an' I takes the gun an' goes out to shoot some more; it 
comes on to snow heavy ; I is caught out all night ; when I gits 
back in the mornin' ; the sun's shinin'. And it shows me the 
shack door busted in ; an' the bed all tumbled ; an' a black b'ar 
a' sittin' on the door-step — chawin' on somethin' bloody. — I 
kills the b'ar.— I don't know how ! I burns the shack. I trails 
you to here ; through the timber ; an' I kills you. Or I means 
to kill you ; an' now, I'm a'goin' after the kid. You won't meet 
up with us. You cain't fergive me, Pete!' She don't never 
raise her voice ner take her eyes off'n me. 'The kid's a-waiting 
fer ME Pete,' she says; 'not you. He's waitin' an' I'm a-goin' to 
him. Goodbye, Pete, fer KEEPS !' An' she turns the muzzle o' 
the gun onto her breas' — the' ain't a man moves his hand to 
stop her— an' she fires, an'— goes.— When I gits— well, I makes 



Fourteen CHINOOK 

over what I brings from Alaska to the girl, an' I lights out. 
Sheep-herdin', trappin', tradin' ; I has tried 'em all. I prospects 
around in the hills now, alone. I'm a seekin' the mother lode 
o' f orgetf ulness ; but I can't never find it; 'tis only jest placer- 
minin' as I'm good fer; on'y jest shaller pockets here an' thar 
o' drink and sleep. I can't fergit Weenoa an' my kid; an' that 
scene in the shack at the dawn. 

While Old Pete is talking, Weenoa appears, from behind a 
juniper tree. She is dressed as when she died, in buckskins 
faded and torn; two red quills are in her dark hair; which falls, 
waving, either side of her face and upon her shoulders. There 
is a red stain above her heart. She extends her arms toward 
Pete, moving nearer and nearer towards him, as he talks of 
their past. As he draws near the end of his speaking his head 
sinks, and his hands goes up and cover his face. Buck Hobbs is 
staring fixedly into the fire, the lines of his grim bronze face 
rigid and set. The Professor has long since shaded his eyes 
with his hands, his body half turned away from Pete. Neither 
of them see Weenoa. At last, she leans above Pete ; around his 
shoulders, shaken with sobbing, she bends like an enfolding 
mist. She lays one hand gently on his head, regarding him 
with a yearning tenderness. 

She disappears — They rouse themselves, as from a dream. 

Old Pete — An' I don't even drink much, any more. 
Coffee-pot an' bean-pot an' fryin'-pan; tin fer me 
to mix bread in an' fer the burros to drink out'n — 
that's all I got o' Home. I wuz'nt wuth a woman an' kids an' 
a house ; but — I has wanted 'em bad ! Last night — funny how 
I happens to meet up with strangers twiced in a week — don't 
often come so ! — the' wuz a chap rides sudden out'n the bresh, 
an' asks ef he kin eat bacon an' sour-dough 'longside o' me — 
arter he's cooked his own. I says fer him to pitch into mine — 
so he does. An' arter ea tin', he lays back on his slicker an' 
saddle rolied up under his haid on the sand, an' he reels off 
this piece to me: 



CHINOOK Fifteen 

HOME FOLKS. 



A chap was askin' to-day o' me 
What-like mought be my Fam'ly Tree; 
An' where was my Home Folks: Far away? 
They always be! sighs this chap, to-day. 

And I says to him, Far away? — Right here: 
You're one of 'em now; so's this baby, near 
To my heart, on my lap, in my arms: all round 
Is my Home Folks: Everywhere there's ground! 
I lives 'cross the way from, next door to 
Everyone livin' and so, does you! 



My Fam'ly Tree? 

W'y, I loves all trees: 

They sure is sweet, in a little breeze 

Stirrin' and shakin' to and fro, 

Rockin' their nests sort of sof, and slow: 

Birds and squirrels and sech-like things 

Belongs to trees; an' old rope swings — 

(I likes these best!) and apples red; 

But I guess, if it's got to be's you said, 

And to every chap's a pedigree, — 

Why slap me down the Christmas tree! 



For that's the day of the year to me — 
When it blooms, in the summer of love and fun, 
When the best o' neighborly things gets done, 
When with lights and candy and toys it blows 
To the joyousest growth trees ever knows: 
So give me the Christmas tree for mine — 
/ don't come o' no noble line : 

My folks all worked, and was home folks, plain: 

There ain't a 'ristocratic strain 

In all o' me, — search me, vein by vein! — 

I was born a kid an' a kid I'll die : 

I like kids best, an' I'll tell you why! 

They don't think it pays 'em to cheat and lie: 

They's the only sensible folk alive: 

They knows they wuz born to swim an dive, 

Climb an' run an' play games an' laugh ; 

An' they tends to business, not for half, 



C H I X K 



But for all o' their - '.','.'.:. 

So give to rue - - - - 
When you're dealin' down my pedigree, 
[est any old common Christmas :r. . 

That - that : urist chap: 

I'd '■'. - amy lap; 

An' when he was got ysto me, 

'I guess / belongs in your Family Tree" 
I 5; - "Little one, you sure d 

Kelly, he growls out, '"Count me in, t 

; ; FlORENS FOLSOM. 

I likes that last-night feller a whole lot. An' I aims to 
ith him farther 'long the Road; the road that's jest 
h an' white streaks an' splotches o' 
alkali sand an' cactus; the road that's some- 

times most r: : 1 hoverin' wing vultures — waitin' 

— -fer men to die: the road that dust-devils whirls on, tossing 
tumbleweed an' bunchweed like froth an' spray before 'em ; the 
I that hot winds scorch; that's travelled by trantlers an' 
prickley-backed horned toads, an' crawlin' pink-black Gilas— 
fer all the world like things Injuns makes out'n bead-work, 
Gilas is. The road that's all blind-trails er rabbit-paths ;er 
trampled yearth around an' empty spring! I wakes up, this 
mornin', thinkin' I'll have a comrade on my way; but my 
bur,: . lie. That's all my life has been — a-goin' from, a 

partin'. 

aTion, A MEETING, says the Lord 
Buddha, said the Professor, softly. 

Well, as I said afore, went on Pete — who had not heard the 

Professor speak, — thar ain't no Chinook fer human hearts. 

Me a' thinkin' myself some Rockies above Weenoa cause I had 

bite skin an' she hadn't, 'cause Is a man an' she a woman. 

No the' ain't, etc. 

His head drops on his breast — Long pause. 

Buck — I takes exception from your remark, Pete. I says 
thar is a Chinook fer humans. Yer wife's gun shot druv your 
Chinook in home to you — your black wind; an' it wuz a black 
wind fer fair, old pardner; it sure wuz. W'v — I've knowed you 



C H I X K 

job and pi 
an' E never found ye 

needn't sua! i 

a cur, ar. I 

] that ths 
she: She it ~ :::ti woman 

I love— it b it a 

i 
ther annin : right 

time 
Am 
Bless 
n d men is i 

my tran s □ 

ly 

Oli r::: — " 

Thr Professor — A n— 

of your Wee t of TmtageL £ 

it 
•a? 
Pf '.:■: 

: matters the color : i How, 

brown 

tram thr the soul passes from birth tx leath thrc j 

dea: _ Pel 

Buck — Say I've often If — 

— 1 aen 
on these plains — ridden . I met 

Bun I . .- . - in I n Lon— n I ..: there— - 1 1 

bings. I gpt quite chummy with him; 
I went I speak in a hall an I looked him u: Be 

wuz ':;: I id to be pals 

sort so many - he had no cal- be sties 

he'd got ahead a bit. I :. him abou: 

ern country; about the disappearin ri inks intc he 

sand and isn't seen n: m : ks an I 



Eighteen C H I N O K 

shapes and figers in the Colorado Canyon; an' he says, Ah — the 
Grand Canyon, Shiva's Temple — Vishnu's Temple — many of 
those river-chiselled forms are named for the gods, the worship 
of my land. All are Oxe, says he, All are One. Say, Pro- 
fessor, what did he mean? I kind of unnerstand, an' then I 
don't; its like a bright mist floatin' nearer — nearer — an' then, 
it's off, away. 

"He goes from death to death, who sees those many 
here. SEE that Oxe, axd be free." Did the Hindu say that? 
asked the Professor. 

He sure did, sir. An' another thing he recited some frequent 
I am He; I am He; ax' so art Thou. Say, I guess that chap 
wuz my Chinook. He wuz sure dark enough to be ! An' I wuz 
black, too, when I met him ; an' 'twuz he tole me about Bob. He 
seen him kickin' about the Lon'on streets. He took me to 
where the old feller hung out mostly — 'twuz under a ole stoop 
in an empty house— an' Bob, he took to me from the start. 
That brown chap, he wuz a corker, every way. He writ a sort 
of pome about Bob an' me an' a pal o' mine. A Lon'on paper 
printed it. I guess I got it here. 



MISSIONARY BOB. 



ou're wcnderin' what's kep' me out' n jail 
This ten year, Mate; what's built me strong an' hale 
While you are pale as I was; an' your eyes 
Are shifty-like an' starvin' 

I "despise" 

My old pal, 'cause he's what I used to be? 
Don't think it, Bill; you've seen too much of me! 

When, leavin' you to ten year more o' "Hard," 
I come out where the sunshine warn't barred, 
The thing I needed most, arter free air, 
Was - - - just a hand to grip mine. 

Bill, I swear 



C H I X K Nineteen 

There ain't no feelin's bad like that there chill 
Of knowin' you ain't got no place to fill 
In all the bloomin' world ; that no one cares 
A damn, whether you keer r. matin' chairs 
Or sneak it kack I ste "." i ve been then 

d seen me. a-waitm 1 For y a :here 
Outside the fail tt that chill : : I 

When / come out, with nowhere I cool I 

Xo folks to find, I hoofed it high an' 
Just loafhr ; bitl : hate in my heart 

Against the world w 

From decer squareness—; 

I'd been an' broke two o' their bl: 

But Bob — I've learnt a straighter creed from him— 

When he's been fightin,' an' 'has had his whim, 

He lays down to his thrash:::' — knowm' well 

He earnt it, an' it's his no cheat ne: 

For weeks no human Chi 
Exce^ — er for m i 

He- 
me come to me for likin' — 'twar'nt for grub — 
He eats the least you ever see — hey. Bub? 
You ain't no cafe ; ; ::. no wine-list dub; 
You eats what I eats an' you hkes it I 
What's good enough for me is best for y 

How did I get so healthy? Well, you see, 

Bob's a big hulking fellow, just like me ; 

He warnt allowed in trams; — no more ain't I — 

Nor nowhere there ain't room for him to lie 

As close as he can crowd agen my feet. 

I seen how in the parks the birds "Tweet, tweet!" 

An' the good air, an' best of all, the gn ss 

To run on, took him right into his class; 

Made his old tail stand straighter; stifled his ears, 

An', - - - - O, he liked it »— 

So, we left the piers, 

Where we'd a corner. Two o' us, we went 
Down to pick hops in this here green old Kent 
Where we've stayed ever since. I turned my hand 
To every sort of job: but, 'Unnerstand, 
I don't do nuffin' ; 'cept my dog can be 



Twenty C H I N K 

Right alongside, close-companying o' me!' 
I says to every man what hires me. 

An' I worked reg'lar so's to buy clean meat, 

(Not scraps) to feed him with. That's all! 

Here's Pete, 

A pup I got agen your coming-out ; 

You feed him good, an' he'll grow strong and stout, 

An' (bein' a bull) won't look at none but you. 

I tell you, Mate, there ain't no friend so true 
As dogs is. / believe that they was made 

For fellers what have gone the pace an' paid. — 

An' no one wants "em round - - - but dogs don't care; 
They love you just the same, no matter where 

You been, or what you done, or who you be. 

Here, take your pup ; best keep him off 'n me ; 
Bein' so little's all that saves him. Bob's 
A jealous cuss. 

Now Bill, off to your job! 

Florens Folsom. 

The Professor — Ah, most extraordinary. Ram Chunder 
Singh has evidently not forgotten his cockney incarnation. 
May I ask, my friend Hobbs, if the er — circumstances hinted 
at — er — the condition of your finances — er — had you been 
in jail, over there? 

Pete ejaculates. 

Buck — O, what's the use, Pete? He don't know no better. 
Say, Stranger, I guess I'll have to spring another screed on you. 
I found this to-day in the Tucson "Breeze" an' it sure made me 
think o' you. Come up a-nearer the fire; it's gittin' colder. 
To-day wuz hot an' to-morrow '11 be hotter; but to-night's — 
cold. It's always so, on the desert. 

Old Pete — Nights is cold, so folks '11 draw together, Buck. 
Days is hot, so they'll stay apart long enough to do their 
work. Ain't that so, sir? 

I reckon, Pard. Well, listen at me now. See ef this 
ain't Foureyes to ther life: . . 



CHINOOK Twenty-one 

THE TENDERFOOT. AN' ME. 



The Tenderfoot, he ain't so much; I ain't eenamored of him 

none ; 
Cain't work a horse er throw a rope, don't savvy herdin; shirks 

a gun. 
In every fake he sights a snake, — a twisted tree — tail of a cow; 
And that's durn strange; fer on the range we cain't buy liquor, 

any how. 

He to a T how things should be kin tell you; how they ought 

to go; 
For he has read, and heard it said, that they should pro-ceed so 

and so; 

But just to sit and watch things fit, smoke up and take life 

easy like; 
He cain't do that — grabs for his hat; and ups the mountain 

for a hike. 
The Tenderfoot, he makes me tired ; he somehow raises me 

on aidge ; 
And when we climb, I all the time amrakin' snakes snakes f'um 

every ledge 
Because he once heard of a man whose niece died of a rattler's 

bite; 

I think the Tenderfoot and me is, somehow, spoilin' for a fight! 

Well I don't know. If I should go East, whar he comes f'um, 

I would be 
The Tenderfoot, just like he is out here, where all is home to 

me; 
I'd be as awk'ard, strange and queer, as he is; an', I s'pose I'd try 
To find the why of everything, like he does ; on'y, I'm so shy, 
I couldn't ask the things he asks — 'cause if I did, I shore should 

die. 

They takes his breaks with desp'rite calm; they makes allow- 
ance, 'cause he's raw; 

But if / once should start such stunts I sure would make the 
fellers sore; 

What was your name before t'was James? What did you do be- 
fore you come. 

When was it, you did time? And is your trouble gin or rum? 
Out here ! 



Twenty-two CHINOOK 

Well, when he's here about a year he'll swing in line and hit 

our pace; 
He ain't in wrong; he don't belong; he only needs to know 

the place 
And us; and, most of all, his se'f. Once he gets wise to these, 

he'll be 
True pard and chum; from questions dumb, a sho-nuff pal o' 

Pete and me. 

Floren t s Folsom. 

Buck — It's no trick at all to ask folks business, friend. It 
ain't done, here. Say, d'ye know it's better to be a empty bottle 
corked than a full bottle spillin' an' soppin' over ; cause the empty 
bottle's cleaned out an' ready fer business, an' the full one ain't. 
It's got to be soused out an' fitted with a fastener — andtthe 
steel an' the cork of that topper, they ain't come by easy. No, 
they ain't. 

That is true, my friend, said the Professor gravely. 
But please, don't misunderstand my asking you if you'd 
been in jail in England. Something made me feel you had 
been. But if you had — if you have been in jail — on any count 
— what difference do you suppose that makes to me? Only — 
this. (Grips hands with Buck.) I feel, about that, just the 
way Bob does. Divine Law no mistakes; but Human Law, 
its clumsy instrument, is a very different matter. It's not 

curiosity makes me ask questions. It's because I'm cold 

out of it all ; and because I want to get warm. 

Pete — Say, Professor, we're kin' o' friendly here, under 
the stars an' the moon; the fire sort o' ties us in together; we 
been talkin' kinder free. Buck, he says, there's a Chinook comes 
to every man. What wuz yours, friend? Mine, Buck says, — 
an' I guess he comes pretty nigh to hittin' it right — wuz the 
powder an' shot of my wife's pistol; an' his wuz Bob. I 
think his Hindu friend wuz on'y the corner o' the hills where 
his Chinook started from. I always wanted to know where he 
got Bob. Seven years that old pup has slep' jes where he's 
sleepin' now — clost to Buck's feet, his head under Buck's hand. 
Yes, Bob wuz Buck's Chinook. Stranger, — what wuz yours? 



CHINOOK Ttt 

The Professor — Gently and musingly — A child's breath 
on mv cheek — and a child's tears. 

Pete — Your own child, Mate 2 

The Professor — No. 

Buck — Whose, then 2 Tell us, Pard; tell us. Yer sis: 
child? 

Pete — Your brother s - 

The Professor — Yes. The sorrowful, abandoned and 
forsaken child of some human sister of mine, some human 
brother. I found Jack, pretty much as Buck found Bob. Don't 
ask me just how, or where, I found him. — Long Pa: 

Buck — Whar is the kid? I'd sure like to learn him to ride 
an' shoot, an' swim. I will, too, by God I will. Whar is he? 

The Professor — laying a restraining hand on Buck's arm. 
— Perhaps, where Weenoa is. Buck. I couldn't keep him, only 
for just five years. But in those five years he taught and 
gave, O boys, so much to me ! 

PETE — Then I'm sorry, son, I'm plumb sorry. I'd have 
liked to 'a seen the little feller — an' given him bits of pretty 
colored rocks to play with — an' nugget s — such like truck. I 
shore would. I'd a taught him prospectin', 

'Well, you'll have a chance to do all those things, boys, 
since if you wish them so strongly and so generously. The Self 
grants to every soul, every chance of loveliness, of good:, 
that it craves.'' 

Pete— The Self 2 

The Professor — The God in us — in each of us — that from 
which we came, to which we must return. That which made 
Weenoa shoot you — Bob stick to Buck — That which made 
Jack love me. It isn't easy to love me. I found that out. 

Buck — Laying his hand over the Professor's — Can't you — 
hev children of your own, Brother? 

Professor — Xo child of mine, in the sense you mean, 
Buck, could be more mine than Jack was — than he is. Thank 
God he is — he is! You see, I've always asked too many ques- 
tions; been too eager; I've frightened away from me what I 
wanted most. My wife couldn't love me — and I stopped try- 
ing to make her. I let her go out from me — to happiness. 



Twenty-four CHINOOK 

Since we're all reeling off rhymes to-night, in the absence of 
Manuel's guitar— how well he played last night! And to- 
night, how better he must be playing among the roses to 
Nina ! As we're all three of us troubadours to-night, I'll tell 
you a verse myself. 



BECOMING. 



As the Self grows strong, and stronger, 

Form and name exist no longer; 

Place and time are quite forgot, 

Space, sex caste, code, creed, are not: 

Past forgiveness ; past offense ; 

Unexpecting permanence 

In relations based on sense, 

Holds the Soul to every tie 

With steel-true fidelity: 

Letting go all loves which strain 

To be free, to love again, 

Elsewhere; otherwise; anew: — 

But the Soul That Knows, holds true. 

Doing, not for wage and fee, 

In no stress of rivalry, 

But because your work demands 

All: your best!— from heart, brain, hands: 

Giving, from the Me of Me 

To the Thou-art— THAT of thee— 

Loving, deep, and wide, and high, 

All who live: all, who shall die. 

Undesiring, unasserting, 
Far, beyond the power of hurting; 
Laboring hard, or resting still 
'Neath the impress of that Will 
Pulsing through our selves like reins 
From that Centre which restrains, — 

Or, — impels and urges on 

So, the Fight of Life is won ! 

Florens Folsom. 



CHINOOK Twenty-five 

That's why I set my wife free, boys. She never was 
mine, really. But she will be, sometime ; because I LET HER 
GO; and I'm going to deserve her loving me 'farther on,' as 
Weenoa said. 

Buck — God ! You ain't no Tenderfoot, Pard ! 

Professor — O, yes, I am, boys. In lots of ways. I lisp 
and stammer, and blush; and I'm lame; a sickly, molly coddlish 
sort of half-baked imitation of a man — 

PETE— Thar— hold on— that's enough. I says, you're a 
MAN — to do what you done. I'm glad to know you. Our trails, 
they don't split to-morrow; they goes on together, to the same 
one pace. Ef so be's you'll hev me fer a trail-mate. 

Buck — An' me. 

Professor— Thank you , thank you, boys! May I tell 
you another thing I — read, once somewhere? 

PETE — An' wrote, too, Son. 

The Professor — Well — er — er 



SINGLE FILE. 



O God, — Life's loneliness! — 

We enlist and march in companies, in squadrons and in troops: 
We bivouac, bunk and feed in close drawn comrade groups; 
We crowd round snapping fires, we jostle shoulders warm, 

But we can't forget Out Yonder the Darkness, and the 

Storm ! 

O God, Life's loneliness! 

We grasp the hand of a comrade Does his soul meet ours 

as well? 
We press the lips of a woman; Does she yield All to Love's 

spell? 
O, the barriers, reservations 'twixt human soul and soul! 
The strange, dim films that verge us from merging in one Whole 



Twenty-six CHINOOK 

We think we are known to our dearest ; we think we are under- 
stood ; 

Then a word cleaves through to oru marrow ; we draw o'er our 
. heart a hood 

To shield and hide from our dearest what they might wound 
in play, 

In malice, want of tact — / made a mistake, we say. 

And, after, we guard our speech, repress with an iron hand ; 
Make smooth, bland masks of our faces. For there's none to 

understand ! 
We thought to march abreast, a palm to our palm clasped 

warm ; 
But it's a Single File and Lockstep, and the Darkness, and the 

Storm! 



Yes — it's Lockstep for awhile, till we learn to walk alone ; 
The shoulder that we lean on, we will find it cold as stone ; 
The flesh that rests aginst us, that we support and bear, 
This will send a generous glow throughout you, Help-and- 
Share! 



There is none can make us happy; there is none can keep us 

glad; 
Out from ourselves it came, each good we have and had: 
As long as we give a gift, and look for its due return, 
It is Single File and Lockstep, and the wage we guage and earn. 

As long as we fish for Love, even with Love for bait : as long 
As we squirm in our misfit holes, square pegs in a circle's thong: 
As long as we nurse resentment, or greed, or discontent, 
It is Single File and Lockstep; Quarantine upon your tent! 

The only way to break Lockstep — to really march abreast, 

Is to wait for orders calmly ; on the will of the leader rest : 

To give, without thought of meed; to love, expecting naught 

For the quarry flees the hunter, and the seeker scares the Sought. 

The films of Self that part us, no knife shall shear them through, 
Save ceasing to reckon difference between high Me, low You : 
Save the large, pitying spirit, too great for petty spites, ' w - 

Beyond, above ambition, desire, claims and rights: 



CHINOOK Twenty-seven. 

Only the Soul ascending, the soul from Self set free, 
Shall blend with other selves, erase the You, the Me : 
He who is all unselfish shall enter, fuse and blend 
With every self: he only true lover is, staunch friend. 

He has found the work he was made for; does what he 

he was meant to do; 
No doors are shut against him who blurs sharp "I" and "You:" 
He meets with no resistance ; he is forbidden naught ; 
The mountain seks Mahomet ; to the Seeker comes the Sought. 

Because his heart is single, complexities and lies 
Open themselves to him ; naught's hidden from his eyes ; 
Because he was strong in himself with cheerful, brave content, 
And kept the Quarantine red-crossed upon his tent, 

At last he is given his mate, to keep, for his very own ; — 
Never again to be lonely ; never to be alone ! 
He is given a palm to hold against his own palm, — warm — 
And for them no more are Lockstep, the Darkness, and the 

Storm! 
O God, Life's comradeness! 

FlorEns Folsom. 

Buck — That's true. — Mate, what did you jest exactly 
mean, by sayin', awhile back, We comes from God, an' we goes 
back to Him? I knows what you mean — an' — I doesn't. Will 
you tell me ? 

The Professor — I'll try to — if you '11 let me tell you my 
own way. I cannot walk without halting. But the wings of 
rhythm sometimes lift me for a little from my mire of ineffec- 
tiveness, my falling short of all I try towards : 

THE FLIGHT OF THE ATOMS. 



There is something in each of us stronger than Fate ; 

Than Life — than Death — than fear ; loss ; hate ; 

There is something in each of us keen and clear 

As a sword in the sun ; something to revere ; 

This something, in most of us, lies asleep ; 

And piled upon it, a rubbish-heap ; 

Of the things we think are ourselves — the mean, 

Pitiful, paltry spites and spleen, 

Shabby self -saving, plan and plot ; — 

We think we are these but we're not — we're not I 



Twenty-eight CHINOOK : . 

Brothers, you each should stride a king; — 
Why to base market your best selves bring? 
Bending and cringing, vending all, 
Bearing the yoke, wearing the thrall 

Of worldly uses and greed and guide 

Wake. Arise! Stretch yourselves! Smile! 

Think of your chances wide and great ; 

You can cherish a wife. You can fill the plate 

And can warm the sleep of children dear ; 

Why should you be angry? What should you fear? 

Women, sisters, you're each a queen ; 

Why should you ever be small and mean ? 

Be breasts to lean on ; arms to fold 

The weary and weak from care and cold ; ; 

Be lips to kiss, not tongues to tear; 

Sisters, women ,love forbear! 

There is something, in each of us, stronger than Fate; 

Than Life; than Death; than fear; loss; hate; 

That something stirs in you now ; it turns 

In its slumber heavy; it burns; it burns; 

Let it scorch through dull layer, through leaden crust; 

It will free you out to God: it must! 

From Him we came on His outward Breath ; 

Atoms whirling through birth, through death; 

The suck of the spiral backward draws, 

Upward : we're borne by mighty laws 

Inward, in, to our source, our Cause. 

THE MASTER-WORKMAN'S KIT OF TOOLS. 



God uses jealousy and lust, 
Revenge and greed and hate, 
To bring about His purposes; 
Sin's His subordinate. 

He uses these to one end — Love. 
They work, and serve Him well; 
Hell beds His Chosen ; that there be 
Some day , no more a Hell. 

No thief but has an honest heart — 
No murderer but is kind ; — 
Whate'er the lying surface be, 
Look under ; look behind ! 



CHINOOK Twenty-nine 

Only deaf ears hear hopelessness, 
And only blind eyes weep; 
. The voice that wounds is but untaught ; 

But new feet wrong trails keep. 

Pity the cruel; and those sick 
With the disease of hate, 

Those who seize, trample, and devour — ■ 

O! these compassionate! 

Yet these but take the Long Way Round; 
By them, too, shall be trod 
The radiant way that leads the stray 
To the Rodeo of God. 

FLORENS FOI.SOM. 

Pete — That's God's truth, boy. Yes, thar does come a 
Chinook on every human heart. Thar's no escapin' it ; it comes 
in various forms ; but it comes, and it shore does its work. 

We've had a kin' of a funny talk, boys. What the ladies 
calls a heart-to-heart. An' seein' we knows each other so well, 
now, I don't mind a-tellin' you what I sees every livin' night. I 
don't sleep much, since I got old, fer thinkin'. 

The Professor — 'For the end of it's sittin' an' thinkin', 
'An' dreamin' hell-fires to see ; 

'So be warned by my lot — which I know you will not, 
'An' learn about livin' from me.' 

PETE— That's it, boy, that's it! Who said that? 
The Professor — Kipling. 

Buck — He wuz shore onto his job. That Hindu cracker- 
jack, he told me off Kipling by the yard. Them Indian pieces 
o' his'n — he liked them better'n all — they got at him whar he 
lived. Say, Pete, you're often tole an iron stain wuz the best in- 
dication o' gold. That brown chap, he had gold under his dark 
skin — he sure had! 

Old Pete — Boys, I guess you all believes what I believes — 
though I suspicion you knows more'n I do, both on you. I 
reckon Christ is Christ to all on us — ain't that so ? I knowed it ! 
Well, boys, he's very near an' close to me. Nights, I seems 
to see Him a-riding over the sea o' sand — he walked on water, 



Thirty CHINOOK 

onced. A camp-chum o' mine fer three nights, he tole me 
about a place he called the Sargasso Sea ; it's a kin' of a stagnant 
whirlpool like, all thick with long- rooted weed ; and the tangle 
stuck full o' ships what has went wrong. The desert's like that, 
full o' human souls what has wandered from the Trail an' lost 
their bearins'. But, even here, the Man is ridin' herd: — 

The Man is ridin' herd. It's night; the stars and the city's 
pleasure-lights are bright; many are sleeping; home-windows 
are dark; but Ee rides herd. Wide and far he rides; for his Trail 
is the World; and until we ALL are sheltered, fed, and safe, He 
cannot rest. His lariat swings coiled at His saddle-horn; He hears 
across oceans the faintest cry of hearts that want him; street or 
canyon is one to him; prairie and square He rides. Many work 
under Him ; and He trusts them ; and His pay is high ; but He believes 
in bein' on the job Hisse'f, first, last, an' ALL the time. 

There is none so fast but He can ride 'em down; His mount 
ain't never blown; don't never catch his hoof in gopher-holes; takes 
scare from nothing. What's the use o' tryin' to give Him the 
laugh? He gets you in the long run just the same ; an' YOU WANT 
HIM TO, RIGHT NOW. What's the use, pretendin'? Jest raise 
up in your saddle now; and send a call to Him (He'll hear it! ) Tell 
Him you want to be His man and draw His pay ; tell Him you want 
to, bad; tell Him He can get YOU ofi'n His mind prontito,— for 
YOU'RE IN RIGHT. 



THE MAN 15 RIDIN' HERD. 



Old Pete: (centre, front). He no longer speaks as a Westerner, 
because for the moment he has become not local but universal 



Chinook comes down on every heart,- 
However hard it be;— 
However wire-fenced apart 
From all humanity. 

Nor roof nor wall may bar it out ; 
"Where'er it lists," it blows; 
Yield to it, lists rampart and redoubt 
Of ev'n "eternal" snows. 



CHINOOK Thirty-one 

From battlefield and grave it pours; 
From ruins, everywhere ; 
'Tis salt and damp and dim, because 
The weight of tears is there. 

Gethsemane and Golgotha, — 
Chinook has swept these, too; 
On its wide wings are glitterings 
Of cold and bitter dew. 

From the true, rugged North it falls 

To serve its ministry: 

But O! the great Chinook of all, 
It blows from CALVARY. 

From the Three Crosses grim and stark 

It bears a message trine : 

Sighs dying Dysmas, — "Brothers, hark 

"To Jesus' Love Divine!" 

Chinook's harsh whistling straight is borne 

From whom at Jesus' side 

Refused HIS tenderness forlorn 

The thief of sullen pride. 

Chinook drives hammering like torn tides 
Imperious, unrestrained, 
O'er hearts past pity or prayer ; it grides 
And scourges, what is feigned. 

But That which heeds the pleading flowers 
Beneath the crushing snow; 
Which leads the seeds to sunshine hours, — 
Christ's Cross made this to blow, 

Chinook that looses Life to bloom, 
From Christ's Heart breathes it forth : 
From Winter's noose of dreary doom 
Releasing radiance and perfume ; 
The gift of Sorrow's North. 

Beneath, Chinook's broad, dusky wings 

Are weariful to see ; — 

But O! — their upward surface gleams 

With glimmerings of our dearest dreams - -» .. > 

With Light, O Christ from THEE! 

Florens Foi,SOM, 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 906 971 • 



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